


The End

by MaraudingManaged



Series: Musical Maraudings [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clubbing, Drama & Romance, F/F, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged/pseuds/MaraudingManaged
Summary: The allure of muggle clubs was the anonymity that could be found in the hazy, thrumming rooms. There was almost no chance for her to run into anyone she might have known in a past life that she’d rather forget.Except when it happened.





	The End

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Holy Mountain, Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds  
> This piece was part of the Sing Me A Rare B:Side OS Competition Spring/Summer 2018. I had a choice of song and I could chose my own pairing. All characters, spells, magical equipment and locations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.  
> I'd like to thank my alpha-beta, shootingdaggers, who patiently put up with my shit whilst I got this done.

 

 

 _Dance dance, if you do that dance_  
_I'm gonna let you join my one man band_

The first time Pansy blagged her way into The End, wand tucked somewhat precariously down her cleavage, she’d been drawn in by the club’s name etched in incongruously small lettering above a deep blue and glinting steel facade. It entranced her, lured her; the polished metal reflected the glittering lights of the London nightlife, creating an enchantment upon her all of its own. The name promised something: some hidden secret... or perhaps an answer. It somehow put the bubbling anxiety to rest that she, Pansy Jessamina Parkinson, was here in the shortest black dress, the highest _fuck me_ heels she could muster, the bloodiest red lipstick she owned, in muggle London… _alone_.

Blaise had fled to Italy, taking Theo with him. Daphne had headed back to Hogwarts, and Draco… well. The less said about Draco fucking Malfoy and his gaggle of newly-acquired Cronies of the Phoenix, the better.

What did that leave her, precisely? A fractured family legacy encased in a manor haunted with memories she would rather forget, a mere pittance to her name, and very few friends to speak of that weren’t locked up or dead. That one word echoing around and around her head as she moved further up the line, hips swaying just a little as her eyes darted around, eying up the crowd appreciatively.

Alone.

It had been Tracey, one of the few remaining Slytherins whom she could call a friend that had remained by her side, who had suggested she get out of the Wizarding world into muggle London. Pansy had laughed in her face before she realised the girl had been serious. It had taken the better part of a month for her to work up the nerve. It was another month still for Pansy to allow her half-blood friend to dress her accordingly, and take her out into muggle London a few times to help her find her feet before throwing her to the wolves.

“ID?” The man on the door asked, starling her from her thoughts, and her brows raised though a stuttering, erratic beat began to patter deep within her chest. _Shit, shit, shit._ Trace had never mentioned any sodding muggle identification requirements!

“Well, this _is_ a first.” Pansy drawled. “I must admit, this is very flattering but somewhat unexpected. Considering the amount of money I’ve spent at this establishment in the last month, I would have thought you fine gentleman would recognise me.”

“Er…” Burly bloke number two began, bald head caught in the spotlight of the club entrance.

“Furthermore, I really can just go and spend this money elsewhere. I’ve around three hundred here, and considering my spend recently, I imagine that will be gone before the evening’s out… and that’s _before_ I start on the credit card. I really don’t think your boss will like it if one of his highest paying customers this summer walks away. Now really, do you two fine gentlemen absolutely need my ID?”

Pansy slowly drew her hand to her hip, elongating one leg in the way her blasted mother had taught her. Poise, elegance, and the flutter of her lashes enhanced by charms that would be the envy of every muggle there. _Come on_ , she begged as she blinked once, twice, and gave a tiny quirk of her lips. _Buy it. Fucking buy it, you ugly bastards_.

The two guards eyed each other and then Pansy before a slight nod from the one with the short-cut black spikes. “C’mon, Miss. Next time, have yeh Passport or Driver’s Licence with yeh though, yeah? If we get raided by the Police, we’re fucked.”

“Oh, gentlemen, I will,” Pansy all but purred, her heart thundering with tightly-constrained relief, “I can promise you. The flattery alone that you think I’m young enough to need it makes me feel rather special. _Charmed_ , you might say.”

“Get in with yeh,” Spikes and muscles rolled his eyes at her utterances and she offered a curtsey before strutting inside with as much grace and intention as she could muster. She was supposed to be there, she told herself as she entered the club’s doors at last; she didn’t stand out _at all_.

And then she was inside.

She was assaulted by bizzare, twisting metalwork and kaleidoscopic tiles that were both alien and mesmerising, reaching up to a low, curved ceiling above her. The crowd moved and writhed almost indecently in time to the impossibly loud music; a crush of people that were impossibly close but yet appeared to be enjoying every minute of it. Upon the low stage at the far end of the room a man was standing, surrounded by a raving crowd who seemed to know him as they roared for more of whatever he was doing.  His hands were flying over a table doing things that Pansy couldn’t possibly hope to understand; but she found she didn’t particularly want to as the wave of music was far more important. It was something like magic, in its own way, and she was quite happy to inhale every moment.

“Fucking Merlin.” Pansy breathed, raising a fluttering hand to her throat momentarily, before a feral grin stole over her lips. She pivoted on her heels, sleek black bob whipping at her face, and she stalked towards the bar with vicious intent. Drawing out £10 from her bag she eyed the offerings Tracey had taught her at other, smaller pubs, before resting her elbows on the bartop.

“What can I get _you_?” A rather delicious-looking brunette bargirl half shouted over the roar of the music and the crowd, and Pansy found herself smirking as the woman’s eyes took in her form with thinly-veiled appreciation. She wasn’t one to turn down a bit of flirting, was she? Fit was fit, after all, and pickings had been slim of late. Even if it was a… muggle… doing the flirting.

Best not follow that line of thought for too long. This club was  marvellous, after all. New leaf, new start, not a fucking Death Eater. Don’t _think_ about Death Eaters. _Drink, dance, fuck, forget. Live._

“A double vodka and tonic, and a shot of tequila… to start.”

The girl saluted, sliding the shot glass before her and the plastic glass of gently fizzing vodka and tonic with ice and a slice a moment later. Pansy slipped her the muggle money and raised her shot glass in a toast before tipping her head back, allowing the fierce burn of of the liquid to hit her throat and slide down pleasantly before slamming the glass back down again.  

The bargirl was still watching her, dark brown eyes rapt, and Pansy slowly licked her lips of the droplets of tequila that clung to them. Purposeful, seductive movements.

“Holy shit.” The woman ran a hand through the loose waves of her hair. “I get off at 1am. Meet you on the dancefloor?”

Pansy’s feral smirk returned as she ran her eyes over the woman again for good measure. “I look forward to it. I think I’ll have another tequila for the road.”

Shot consumed, Pansy sipped at her vodka and then threw herself headlong into the twisting, gyrating masses. The thrum of pounding bass reverberated in her chest, tequila and vodka flushed her face, and for the first time since the end of the war she felt truly, entirely alive.

 

* * *

_You can blow my mind if you're that way inclined_ _  
_ _All I know is that you fell from above_

 

Angelina loved clubbing.

There was something about the sway of hips, the swirl of bodies, the slick of sweat and burn of alcohol combined that was almost magical. She’d lost Katie and Alicia about half an hour ago in the crush of bodies, but that wasn’t entirely unusual and she had no doubt her two friends would be very quickly finding partners for the evening. That was part of the appeal of these nights out, after all. Aside from getting dressed up - tonight’s ensemble of a canary yellow halterneck and cherry red patent heels a statement look if ever there was one - was the promise of booze, music, and warm and willing bodies. Forgetting, in whatever way that reprieve was offered.

And fuck if she didn’t need to _forget_ : as hard and fast and as completely as possible.

Pushing her way out of the crowd and squeezing the waist of the woman she’d been dancing with, Angelina staggered with giddy breathlessness towards the bar… and staggered on the wooden floor, slicked with spilled beer, as she spotted someone she would _never_ have expected to see in a club in muggle London.

Her fuschia-stained lips parted, a whistle of air hissing through her teeth, and the first thought that finally stuttered through her drink-flushed brain was not the one she’d expected.

_She looked so different from school._

Angelina fluffed a hand through her hair, catching her fingers in the small red bows in the top of her messy, barely-controlled bun as a memory danced at the forefront of her mind. The braids well-suited to Quidditch and fighting wars were some the first things she’d removed after the final battle - her personal goodbye to her youth. Letting go of her memories, of what they tied to - to Fred…

She supposed she looked awfully different from the girl she’d been at Hogwarts, too.

Despite the difference in her appearance, there was no disguising Pansy Parkinson. Angelina was surprised she didn’t feel automatic revulsion for the girl - woman - leaning over the bar with a dress almost as short as her own. Head to toe in black, she looked like something out of a fashion magazine as she - _flirted?_ \- with a woman at the bar and downed shots of golden liquid with a sultry expression on her face.

She had no idea what to make of it. Pansy was alone at a club. Clearly, she was comfortable around muggles - _clearly,_ because she was more than happy to flirt with them.

 _What the ever-loving fuck was going on?_ Had she fallen asleep in the loos half-baked, and woken up in an alternate universe where ex-Slytherins were mates with muggles and went out on the piss in good old London town?

And then she was on the move - all hips and legs and the sway of her movements until she was in the midst of the throng. She moved on the dancefloor like liquid shadow, her body working in time to the rhythm of the DJ with incongruous grace that had men and women drawn to her like moths to a flame. Angelina couldn’t help but stare, really. It was entirely understandable - she stood out so completely.  

And she didn’t seem to mind as hands smoothed over her hips and waist, pulling her into body after body to dance.

Angelina followed. 

 

* * *

_Do your thing on the beat of the bang_  
_I'll put a melody inside of your head_  
_No need to shout, what you bitchin' about?_  
_I think those things are better left unsaid_

 

She couldn’t _stop_ staring. It had been three weeks she’d been coming to The End, watching Pansy Parkinson dance in the club with a variety of people. She’d always kept to the sidelines, watching as she came in alone, and seemed to leave with a different person each time. Sometimes men, usually women, of all different persuasions as if she were unsure of her tastes or proclivities.

Angelina thought she was getting rather good at being secretive… Until she was caught. She wondered if it was fate - she’d worn the yellow dress again, the same dress she’d worn the first time she’d seen her. Yellow was always a lucky colour for her.

Pansy’s eyes found hers, and her arched brows dipped below her full fringe as she tried to place her -  until her expressive eyes blew wide and her head shook. Angelina threw her hand out, shaking her head to try and placate her, but it was too late - the storm that was Pansy Parkinson was already on the move and she was heading for Angelina whether she liked it or not.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, Johnson?” She spat, and Angelina briefly wondered where her wand was stashed.

Oh, shite.  _Lie, Angelina, lie._ _You have not been watching Pansy Parkinson for three weeks straight._

“Same as you, I imagine - getting drunk and dancing. I’m already getting an Outstanding on drunk, but nowhere near an Acceptable on the dancing.” She held out a hand to the girl, only a few years younger than she. Pansy stared at it as if it might bite her, before her eyes trailed up her arm and then focussed on her neck, her lips, her eyes.

“Alright then, Johnson. Let’s see about getting you that O, shall we?” She raised a brow, and placed her dainty hand in Angelina’s.

She didn’t miss the double-entendre, and her face grew rather hot at the insinuation. Pansy smirked.

Nothing about what they were doing made sense, and yet Angelina was drawn to her - inexplicably, yet completely. Pansy was dancing before her, head thrown back and arms raised above her head in complete abandon, which exposed a phenomenal amount of thigh. Angelina’s eyes were drawn downwards to where her dress barely covered her arse and her hands drifted lower, from Pansy’s waist to her hips in a teasing rake of her nails.

This, she knew, could only end in trouble.

She was already more than a little drunk. She was feeling a little too brave, and clearly a great deal of stupid.

Digging her nails in just a little, she dragged Pansy backwards so that their bodies were pressed flush together. The shorter girl’s back was firm and delicate against her breasts and she hissed as she continued to roll her hips, encouraging her to continue the movements in time with the music.

Pansy was going to be trouble, she knew.

She should walk away - it would be the sensible idea. Walk away now from the ex-Slytherin and not get involved, before she dragged her down in whatever trouble her gut was telling her about.

Angelina dipped her head a little, running her nose along the crook of Pansy’s neck. She arched her back.

Walk away.

Her tongue darted out, tasting the salt on her skin from her sweat, licking a line before biting. Pansy gasped, and swore.

_Walk away, damnit, Angelina._

She spun Pansy around in her arms, gazing into her eyes - hazel, occasionally turned dark in the flickering lights of the club - and then down to her lips. Gryffindor red, she thought. It was as if the universe was daring her to do it, really.

When their mouths met in that first kiss, it wasn’t gentle. It was a crash of lips, tongue and teeth; biting, swirling and leaving the other breathless. There was lust, desire and a little hate, as Angelina drove her hands into Pansy’s hair to anchor her closer and Pansy dug her sharp little nails into her back.

“Come home with me?” She muttered in her ear, before biting on the lobe.

Pansy’s slowly forming smirk was answer enough, and she took her hand.

 

* * *

_She had a look you won't find in a book_  
_And she smelt like 1969_  
_You canblow my mind if you're that way inclined_ _  
All I know is I’m gonna make you mine_

 

Pansy remembered Angelina Johnson from school: Quidditch fanatic, Potter crony, bit of a fierce dueller. What she didn’t recall was how attractive the girl had been. She supposed that being on opposite sides of a war had a habit of doing that - closing your eyes to what was right in front of you. There was also, of course, the fact that Draco Malfoy had been Pansy’s reason for being… until he was no longer interested in what she had to offer. That had opened her eyes quite a lot.

Daphne Greengrass had opened them rather wider still after that, once she’d dragged her heart up off the floor from where he’d trodden it into the ground.

Now she was in some sort of clandestine muggle-clubbing-relationship, with a girl she had once teased for _braids_ , of all things. Blaise had dragged her over the coals for that one.

What was more worrying, however, was that there were some sort of _feelings_ involved. When she’d first danced with her, she’d thought Angelina would be a fling - something to keep her occupied for a few nights. What it turned into was so much _more._ It shouldn’t have made sense. It _didn’t_ make sense, and yet they were seeking an escape together in whatever way they could find.

They went from club to club, bar to bar, but somehow always ended up back in The End, bodies close that they may as well have been one person, lips pressed in kisses that left them breathless and needy, hands grasping at hips and waists in an attempt to draw the other closer still.

“Oh, shit.” Pansy dug her fingers into Angelina’s hair as her mouth ghosted breaths over her thighs, tracing long stripes with her tongue and then blowing cool air. “You sodding bitch.”

“You love it, witch.” Angelina had smirked up at her before licking at her with deft movements that sent her over the edge into unrelenting bliss in minutes.

Pansy couldn’t let go, however, of what Angelina had said. _You love it_.

She stared at the ceiling in the flat Angelina rented not far outside the centre of muggle London, her eyes tracing the patterns in the ceiling. _Love, love, love._

Two months, they’d been clubbing, shagging, and eating muggle takeaways in this little flat. They’d watched a _tele-bision_ or however in Merlin’s name you pronounced it, shouting at stupid sports on the screen and laughing at even stupider comedy plays. Pansy had spent more time here than in the manor, curled up on the settee under a blanket or beneath the sheets.

She was happier than she’d ever been. Her mother would surely kill her for that alone, if she didn’t lose her marbles entirely over the fact it was a woman she was happy with.

“Parkinson?” A sleepy voice mumbled from beside her, and she turned her head.

“Johnson?” She replied, equally quiet in the early morning light.

“Stop thinking so loudly - do you ever shut up? C’mere.” Angelina dragged Pansy over to her, pressing her close, inhaling the scent of Angelina’s patchouli and vanilla perfume that still lingered on the pillows and in her halo of curls.

Angelina’s lips pressed a gentle kiss to her crown before she drifted back into sleep, arms looped about Pansy’s waist, and she chewed on her lip as she closed her eyes.

What in the name of Salazar himself was she supposed to do now?

 

* * *

_She danced, she danced, right into my hands_  
_Oh now pretty baby c'mon!_  
_Be my butterfly_  
_You and I will shake it_  
_We can roll in at the top of the morn’_

 

Angelina stared at the sleeping woman beside her, black hair fanned across the pillow. A small smile toyed on her lips as she reached out to brush a strand that had fallen over her eyes, causing her nose to wrinkle in irritation. Beautiful. She was beautiful.

Four months.

Four months of clubbing, of dancing, of sex, of secret outings, of watching TV and throwing popcorn, of curling up under a blanket just because it was comfy. Somehow, this woman had danced into her hands and her bed, and was now finding her way into her…

Angelina sighed and rolled over, grabbing her wand and casting a _tempus_ charm. 7:30am. They’d got home only a few hours before after dancing all night at one of the best shows they’d been to. They’d had _way_ too much vodka, done shots with a group of guys she was fairly certain were also gay, and rolled home at sunrise.

She could still feel Pansy’s hands and mouth running over her breasts, her stomach, her pussy. They’d not slept for a few hours after getting home, either.

Crawling out of bed, she made her way to the dresser and opened a drawer, taking out a shirt that was tenderly folded. Glancing at Pansy, who was still sound asleep, she tiptoed to the sitting room and sat down on the chair that was still torn by that old biting teacup.

“Fred, we need to talk.” She brought the shirt to her face, inhaling the scent that faintly lingered, though the preservation charm on it was wearing thin after the year or so it had been in place.

_Go on then, you nutter. Get talking to the shirt._

Angelina laughed. She couldn’t help it. She knew she was totally mad, talking to the shirt of her dead boyfriend. Yet sometimes, even though he wasn’t really there, she could imagine what he might say if he were… and it was that advice she needed so desperately right now.

“Alright then, Freddie. You see, I’ve met someone…”

_I saw. A bloody Slytherin, and a girl. Are you mental?_

“Oi!”

_You could have at least invited me along._

“Pervert. The thing is… I think I feel something big for her, you know? But I don’t know what to do.”

_Well, Angie-babe, you either feel something or you don’t. And talking to a dead bloke’s shirt isn’t going to help you on that one. Sorry, love._

“I thought you might say that.”

_She’d be nuts if she didn’t love you, Angie-babe. Even if she’s a snake._

Angelina sighed, but it was oddly comforting. She knew what she needed to do.

Folding the shirt back up, she placed it on the chair and promised herself she would show it to Pansy later. She wasn’t sure how the other woman felt, but she hoped that perhaps she might be willing to give something more a go. If not… well, at least she tried.

 

* * *

_And if you feel the need_  
_I'll send you Godspeed_ _  
To meet your maker at the break of the dawn_

 

Pansy should have known that as with all good things in her life, it was never going to last. Inevitably, she would find some way to fuck it up and drive a wedge between her and the woman who was so very different and yet so wonderfully aligned with her.

She always did.

“Pansy, what are you wearing?”

“Oh, this? I just found it. I think it rather suits me, don’t you?” She lounged against the wall, black knickers prominently on display with the shirt barely covering her breasts. She’d found it thrown over one of the chairs in the living room and assumed it had been from an old one-night stand - the large white shirt hanging off her slight frame.

“Take it off,” Angelina’s voice was hard as she stormed up to Pansy, hands trembling. “Take it off, now.”

“Merlin, I didn’t realise you were such a domi- fuck!” Clawed hands tore the shirt from her shoulders and she staggered, grappling for purchase against the wall to maintain her balance. Angelina’s eyes were damp with tears, the usual rich chocolate shade darkened with rage and pain.

“What the _fuck_ is your problem?” Pansy hissed, not bothering to cover herself. “Tell me, or I swear to Salazar I’m walking.”

Angelina’s face morphed into a look of horror, though she held the shirt to her chest and cradled it protectively. The tears that had been in her eyes flowed freely now, staining her face - ashen and swollen. “It was Fred’s, okay? It’s one of the few things I have of his. George has most of it, and it’s just something I have that he gave to me. So pardon me if I’d prefer you not wander around in my dead boyfriend’s shirt.”

Pansy felt like she’d been slapped.

No - the physical blow would have hurt less. Pansy had been eviscerated.

“Dead boyfriend,” She couldn’t help the raspy laugh that escaped her, though her heart was in tatters, “That’s somewhat of an oxymoron, Angelina. “

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you _dare_ get jealous over a dead man!” Her voice rose in decibels and Pansy snapped.

“Jeal- You’re right. No, I’m not going to get jealous over the dead. I will not be the person who waits around for you to decide if you are worth something, or if you have permission to move on with your life. Merlin wept, I cannot believe I’m saying this to a fucking Gryffindor.”

“Pans, that’s not fair. You don’t understand! I was going to tell you about - ”

“No, what’s not fair is holding on to me like I’m acceptable for a shag and a good night on the town, and that’s all. If you only want sex then far be it from me to judge you.” Pansy held her hands up, fingers splayed widely. “You are perfectly entitled to shag whoever you want. But the power of Merlin to you, Johnson, because it won’t be me. If I stay in this I need all of you because I…”

Her words dried up. She glanced away from Angelina and the bloody white shirt, jaw clenched and teeth grinding together.

“You what, Pans?”

Angelina’s hand reached out, her fingers desperately trying to find some purchase on any part of Pansy she could grasp, but she moved away before she could be burned further by the woman who she had so readily given far too much of herself to. She wouldn’t let herself cry - she’d never been one to cry in the face of others anyway - but it didn’t make the burning agony of this rejection any less piercing.

What a fool. What a weak, pathetic fool she had been.

“I can’t. Decide what you want, and if you can’t let go and see what’s standing right in front of you then that will not be my problem. I can’t let myself be someone’s escape from their problems again.”

“That’s… that’s not what you _are_.” Her voice was timid, broken.

“Really? Seems like it to me. Now, excuse me whilst I get my things and leave.”

It was all she could do. Getting out of that flat where everything reminded her of every wonderful bit of healing, every happiness, every moment where she had felt like a human instead of the daughter of a Death Eater, where she had felt _loved_ , was the only thing she could do.  

“It… it smells like you now.” She heard Angelina choke out. “It doesn’t smell like Fred anymore.”

Pansy stilled, sucking in a breath. Her eyes began to burn, and hot tears danced along her eyelashes. _Fuck_.

Unable to look Angelina any further lest she see her weakness, she searched the room to collect her scattered clothes and the tatters of her dignity.  Perhaps she might find the fragments of her heart as she did so.

 

* * *

_Get out of the doldrums baby, now!_  
_You liar, I'll set ya' on fire_ _  
Get out of the doldrums baby, now!_

 

The last time Pansy Jessamina Parkinson went to The End, it felt like a goodbye.

Spikes and muscles was standing guard on the door again. “Where’s your mate?” He leered as she walked past, and she barely paused to raise a perfectly manicured middle finger at him. “Smile, love - might never happen!” He yelled after her and she rolled her eyes with a wrinkle of her nose.

Salazar-cursed men. Always the bloody same. “Oh, but it might happen, and then you wouldn’t know what on earth to do with yourself!”

She heard his faint laughter, but it was drowned out in the familiar thrum and drone of the club. The first thing she intended to do was get good and drunk. After that, she was going to dance until she was dizzy from the exhaustion of it. Maybe tonight might be the night she tried some of those muggle drugs she kept hearing so much about - apparently they could bring about some fairly impressive highs, and she needed the oblivion. Desperately.

As she rounded the corner to the bar at the back of the room, hell-bent on drinking as much tequila as her stomach could handle, her eyes found a figure she thought she would never see again and her heart stuttered. Pansy shut her eyes, trying to force the image of her from her mind.

No. Not tonight. _Why,_  of all nights, would it have to be tonight when she wanted so badly to forget?

 _She_ stood by the bar.

Merlin, it hurt to breathe. There was a tightness in her chest that was nothing to do with the heat of the club and all to do with the woman in front of her, looking exactly as she had when all this business started months ago. In the same bright yellow dress Pansy had seen her in that very first night they’d met - her hair a halo of dark curls cascading down her back.

And in her hands was a bundle of white.

Pushing herself off the bar, Angelina forced herself into Pansy’s space so that they were close - within touching distance. They had to be close enough to speak over the music, she realised, and then she came closer still. Angelina always ran hot, her body a warming charm against the cold night air, and now she was close enough that if she wanted to, Pansy would be able to kiss her.

And Merlin, she wanted to.

“I’ve been here every night for the last week, you know. I was starting to think I might have to come to your manor.” Angelina said lowly.

Pansy blinked once, twice, and swallowed thickly. “ _Why_?”

“I… I wanted to give you this.” She held out the shirt to Pansy. “Do whatever you like with it. Burn it, wear it, I don’t mind. Fred’s gone and he’s not coming back and you were right. I need to let go of the past.”

Pansy reached out and ran her hands over the soft, well-worn cotton of the old school shirt before shaking her head. “No. Keep it. In fact…” She took it from the woman before her and flicked it out, the creases showing it had been folded and unfolded time and time again. Strangely, it didn’t sting as she thought it should have - there was no point holding a grudge against a memory, after all.

She was here, after all. She’d come.

With precise movements, she reached out to hang the shirt over Angelina’s shoulders. She still wanted to drag her nails across them, dig them in until the girl hissed in pleasured-pain. Instead, she untucked the mane of curls from the collar and let them tumble down her back like a waterfall. The movement sent a burst of the pachouli she always wore into the air, allowing herself a moment of selfish pleasure as she brushed her fingers against Angelina’s neck.

She shivered, dark lashes fluttering shut for just a second. Pansy would never be too proud to admit the thrill it gave her, and her tongue darted out to dampen her lips.

“I never thought I’d come out of the war alive, you know. But I lived; _we lived_. You made me see that there’s life beyond the war, and we have to live it. We can’t just stay in that… that darkness. I mean, even Malfoy’s shacking up with your lot isn’t he?”

Angelina’s lips quirked upwards. “Mhhhm.”

“If you expect me to start with that nonsense, you can think again. I’m not going to take anything lying down.”

“Obviously.” Angelina’s smile grew just a little bit bigger, and Pansy raised a finger, pointing it directly at her chest.

“And you know, don’t you, that if you fuck me over I _will_ find a way to slip you something truly awful?”

“I _know._  I’m here, and I’m promising you that I am going to try to… I’m sorry, for everything that I said that night. I don’t have all the answers. What I do know that everything about this is mad, that it shouldn’t make sense, except that when you walked out it _hurt_ and the idea of you never coming back was wrong.” Her face creased as if she were reliving the agony and Angelina clasped at the shirt, holding it against her as if it were some sort of shield against the pain of that night. Pansy reached out for her hands, releasing them and feeling their heat, the callouses from years of flying, Quidditch, and fighting wars they should never have been required to fight.

They squeezed back, fingers linking together, made to interlock that way.

“That’s because love hurts _,_ ” Hope bubbled in Pansy’s chest, her irritation dissipating as quickly as it had come. “That doesn’t make it not worth having.”

“I never thought I’d find it again, you know. I can’t promise I won’t fuck it up.”

“ _You’ll_ fuck it up? I’ve got to face Harry Potter! Can you imagine that conversation? ‘Oh, evening Potter. Just to let you know: I’m shagging your teammate and, by the by, sorry for trying to hand you over to the Dark Lord. No hard feelings?’ Oh yes, I’m positively certain that’ll go swimmingly.” She threw her hands in the air.

Angelina started at her blankly before reaching out and clasping her shoulders. “Pansy….”

“And what about the rest of the Gryffindor hoard? Granger? Oh, Merlin's balls, _Longbottom_!” Hysteria began to swell and her pulse stuttered, and she reached out to grasp the shirt that she had so delicately placed around Angelina’s shoulders.

“Pansy, for once can you just _shut up_?” Angelina was grinning now as she shook her gently. “I’m trying to tell you that I think I’m falling in love with you, you daft cow.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and Pansy’s mild panic vanished in an instant as her gaze swivelled to meet Angelina’s once more. Her expression was sure, steady and warm, her full lips still turned up in that lopsided smile that made her eyes crease in the corners. But more than that: it was filled with the same hope that she had felt from the minute she had seen her at the bar.

“Oh.” She breathed, her eyes wide. “Well then, I’m glad we cleared this little misunderstanding up. You know I... obviously. If that’s all?”

Angelina’s face was a picture of pure delight as she tipped back her head and laughed. “Dance with me?”

Around them, in The End, the music continued to pound like a heartbeat.

Pansy knew somehow, as Angelina’s hands traced her shoulders, her throat, her jaw and delved into her hair - tugging her until their mouths collided in what seemed like an inevitable merging - that it was something like magic.  

 _She fell, she fell, right under my spell_  
_She fell, she fell, right under my spell  
_ _She fell, she fell, right under my spell_


End file.
